Tension Makes A Tangle
by SeenaC
Summary: Next part of my ongoing narrative.  Slash - see warnings inside.  John deals with his new feelings for Sherlock, his sister Harry, Mycroft's new family, the Holmes' family history, and a new case for Sherlock. "Nothing happens to me" is a distant memory.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This story begins soon after the events of "Sunday with Mycroft"

**Warnings:** Slash. Adult Content. Not sure yet how much. I'll put warnings on individual chapters.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine. Elements of the plot borrowed from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. No money is made by me from this. My tax return can prove it. Title is borrowed from an old 10,000 Maniacs song. No connection to the song, just thought it fit this story.

**Beta:** The ever fabulous Jarri Scythe!

Tension Makes a Tangle - 1

I woke up, and once again discovered that Sherlock had never come to bed during the night.

I rolled over to my back, away from his empty side of the bed and considered what to do.

It had been several days since I had first kissed Sherlock, at his request, and since then I had barely spoken twenty words to him.

_I should have realized_. I chastised myself. _I should have known once he began serious work on avenging his mother that I wouldn't see him again until he finished the job._

I wasn't angry, maybe a little let down, but I could hardly blame his dedication to the project. If my own mother had been murdered and I had the opportunity to take down her killers, I would probably be pursuing them with the same single-minded focus Sherlock was currently displaying.

Still, it had caused me a pang of disappointment (laced with a tiny bit of relief, if I'm being completely honest) that first night, when he never followed through on pursuing a more physical relationship. Instead, I heard him tapping away at his laptop and rustling through files, while I waited in the bedroom and finally fell asleep.

When I came out the next morning to find him exactly as when I'd last seen him, he looked up and looked momentarily guilty.

"I'm sorry John. Er, I lost track of time and - well..." he trailed off helplessly.

I hastily tried to reassure him, "No, I understand. Seriously, it's fine. Just, don't work yourself to death."

He smiled happily and returned to work. This pattern had now been repeated a number of times and I was starting to worry. Was he using the case to avoid me? Did he now regret having taken the step of having admitted non-platonic feelings? Or, was it just as simple as not wanting to divide his attention just now?

On the plus side, although he hardly spoke to me at all, he was following my coaxing to eat and drink at least. Sleeping was more of a problem. I simply couldn't convince him to come to bed at night, even when I made it clear that I was concerned for his health and had no other agenda.

All he would just shake his head and say, "Not yet, John."

And then I would find him on the couch the next morning. Sometimes he'd be dozing, but still dressed, even down to his shoes. There were a few nights that I heard Mycroft visit for a short time. I assumed they were discussing possibilities and strategies, but they resolutely kept me out of their plans, saying that they refused to see me suffer any negative consequences from any action they might take.

It was very frustrating. I felt useless as a partner - in crime or love. That morning, the frustration must have brought about a fit of temporary insanity, because I decided that it was time for Harry to meet Sherlock. I wasn't so crazy as to think it was a great idea, only one whose time had come. After all, Harry was the only family I had, and it seemed only right that she finally meet the man I was living with, and was now possibly involved with.

I came out to the sitting room to find Sherlock sprawled on the couch, deeply asleep. His laptop, which was dead, had slipped down between his legs. On his chest was a file, out of which papers were slipping, some already on the floor. Somewhere I could hear his cell phone mournfully chirping the "Help me! I'm dying!" signal.

I went and retrieved his laptop, plugging it in so it could charge. After listening carefully, I determined that his cell phone was in the pocket of his trousers, so I decided to leave it. I then went into the kitchen and made tea and toast, setting a mug and plate on the coffee table for Sherlock as well as making my own.

I then tiptoed from the flat, hoping that he would finally get some decent sleep.

I called Harry from work, and she seemed delighted to hear from me and eager for the three of us to get together. We decided on the following night. I was hoping that since she would have to work the next morning, she wouldn't want to drink excessively.

I had debated with myself on whether to say anything ahead of time to her about Sherlock's and my relationship, but finally decided against it. I felt I needed to talk to Sherlock again, as much as I felt a bit anxious about doing so.

I came home from work that day to find Sherlock pacing the sitting room and muttering to himself. He waved at me absently, then waved me off when I tried to ask him about dinner. I sighed and decided that it was going to be another takeaway night.

When I got back to the flat, Sherlock was calmer, and seemed interested in the food so I shared my Chinese with him. Fortunately, I had bought enough that it could easily feed us both. As we ate I brought up the subject of meeting with Harry the following evening.

"No big deal, just fish and chips down at the pub; give you two the chance to meet each other."

Sherlock nodded slowly, "Sounds alright. I won't want to stay long - I'm still working..."

"I know," I said, "it shouldn't be more than an hour or two at most."

Sherlock gave me an oddly sad smile.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"It just occurred to me that I've known you for almost two years and I've never met her. I feel...bad about that."

"Don't. If I had wanted you to meet her sooner I would have brought it up. But I think it's time, now."

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, "Yes, I suppose so."

Our eyes met, and I suddenly realized that this was our first real conversation since the kissing episode. I found myself flushing, suddenly very self-conscious and awkward.

Sherlock also seemed to be ill at ease, and dropped his eyes to his plate.

After a pause, he began speaking, "I've, er, made some progress with the case. We should see our first set of results soon. There's still much more to do, of course, but we have to space it out some...to cover our tracks, you know. So I'm giving myself a little bit of a break this evening. I guess it's time since you found me asleep this morning. I'm thinking after dinner I might just take a shower and go to bed."

"Sounds like a good idea. I'm sure you need the rest."

I'll admit I'm not a particularly clever man at times. But in my defense, Sherlock could have been a bit plainer. As it was, I was halfway through the washing up before I put the pieces together.

_Oh! I suppose I could do with some extra rest myself..._

TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N**: Warning - Frank discussions about sex in this chapter. However, no actual explicit activity. Lots of fluff, though.

**Beta:** The very patient Jarri Scythe

Tension Makes a Tangle - 2

I finished tidying the kitchen as I pondered my position. I was afraid of jumping to the wrong conclusion, but Sherlock had never announced his intention to go to bed before, and he rarely discussed upcoming showers either.

Was I ready for this? I'll admit it, I wasn't sure. I had enjoyed kissing him, and I was getting used to the idea of being attracted to him. But when I tried to picture truly intimate activity...well, that was a lot more difficult.

Sherlock had left the bathroom and was now moving around in the bedroom. I came in and started pulling out a clean pair of pajama pants and a t-shirt.

"Are you done in the bathroom Sherlock? I think I'll shower as well."

Sherlock, dressed in his pajamas and dressing gown was fussing with his laundry and didn't look up. "Yes, I'm done, it's all yours."

I scrubbed myself with a bit of extra emphasis, keeping in mind Sherlock's hang-ups about sexual activity being of questionable hygienic merit.

_He's probably only willing to do this because I'm a doctor,_ I thought to myself.

Once I was done, teeth brushed and flossed, all finger and toenails carefully trimmed, I headed to the bedroom in a mixture of excitement and nerves.

I found Sherlock already in bed, with just his small bedside lamp on, casting a dim light in the room. He was reclining against his pillows, reading his book on serial killers that he had brought with him to Surrey some months back. I couldn't help but laugh.

"What?" asked Sherlock, with a hint of defensiveness.

"You must be the only person in the world who thinks it's a good idea to read about serial killers at bedtime."

Sherlock huffed, "Reading about them doesn't make it any more likely that we'll be attacked tonight."

"I know that. It's just that most people wouldn't want to put such ideas in their heads right before bed. It might cause nightmares," I said as I crawled into bed beside him.

"I never have nightmares about serial killers...unless you count Moriarty," Sherlock admitted reluctantly.

"Yeah, well, that guy IS a nightmare." I paused. "So what else do you dream about, Sherlock?" I was curious.

Sherlock looked slightly uncomfortable and leaned over and turned out the light before answering.

"I don't usually remember my dreams," he said.

"But when you do remember them, what are they about?"

"I don't want to talk about that right now."

"OK, what do you want to talk about?"

There was a few seconds of silence, and then Sherlock was suddenly curled up against me, the front of his body against my side, throwing one arm and one leg across my body. His lips grazed briefly over my ear before he answered in a low, quiet voice,

"I'm sorry I've been neglecting you, John. I warned you that I wouldn't be a very good lover."

"Sherlock, believe me, I totally understand. You have to work on your mother's case. I would do the same. I'm not upset and I'm not feeling neglected. I'm only concerned about you working yourself too hard," I said, stroking the arm he'd put over my chest.

"How often do you usually expect to have sex?"

"What?"

Sherlock sighed. He hated repeating things when he took me by surprise (which was often).

"How often do you usually expect to have sex with your partners?"

"Sherlock, why are you asking this?"

"Because I want to make sure that you get what you need to be happy. I know that you're too generous to make demands on me, so I want to know up front what your expectations might be, to make sure that I fulfill them."

"Isn't my telling you something like that making a demand?"

"Well, if I don't find out now, you're likely to not say anything until you're already frustrated and upset."

"Sherlock, this conversation is making me upset! I am NOT going to put you in a situation where you have sex with me simply to fulfill the marital debt!"

I was horrified at the idea.

There were several seconds of silence.

"Marital debt?" Sherlock finally questioned hesitantly.

I sighed, "Yes, Sherlock, _the marital debt_. You know, the outmoded church decree that a spouse can demand intercourse from the other, and not be refused? What you're suggesting sounds pretty close."

I could hear my voice shake a bit with anger.

Sherlock wrapped himself tightly around me and buried his head in my neck.

"I'm sorry, John. I didn't mean to insult you."

I put my arms around him and sighed.

"It's ok Sherlock. I believe you." _Relationships are not your area._

We were both quiet for a while as I stroked his hair with one hand and his back with the other.

Finally, Sherlock raised his head and spoke with his lips brushing my jaw.

"Is that how you think of me?"

"Hmmm?" I responded, unsure what he meant.

"As your spouse?"

I chuckled, "Well, you're the closest thing I've ever had I guess, as odd as that may sound."

Sherlock mumbled something in a disgruntled tone.

"What was that?" I asked.

"I said, _it doesn't sound odd to me_," huffed Sherlock.

Sherlock was quiet for another minute, but his hand began to move slowly over my chest, fingertips lightly tracing patterns over my shirt.

"I used to have dreams about you marrying Sarah and leaving me," he whispered.

I tightened my arms around him, "That will never happen now."

"Would you like to get married?"

"Not anymore."

"Never?"

I thought I detected a note of hurt in Sherlock's voice.

"Err, Sherlock, what are we talking about here?"

There was another exasperated sigh. "You. Me. Married."

"Oh, I thought you meant would I want to marry a woman. I don't know, Sherlock. I thought you were already married to your work."

"I never thought I would have any kind of romantic relationship. But now..." he trailed off for a moment.

"Kiss me, John," he said, just as he had several days ago on the couch.

I put my hands on either side of his face and guided him toward me. We brushed noses, Sherlock adjusted the tilt of his head, and then his lips were on mine. I was cautious, as I had been before, not to rush or push things. I wanted him to take the lead, only doing things he was comfortable with. I also resolved not to take things very far tonight, as I was still a bit rattled by the idea that Sherlock would think that he owed me sex.

After several minutes of fairly chaste and gentle kissing Sherlock stopped and hovered his face over mine, looking at me intently.

"John, can I put my tongue in your mouth?"

For a second, I was just shocked, and then I saw he was smiling.

_Well, this IS progress, he's able to poke fun at himself!_

I purred back at him, "That depends."

"On what?"

"Can I put mine in yours?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

And then our mouths were sealed. It was messy, and there were teeth and tongues and for a few moments I was certain this would put Sherlock off sex forever, but soon it settled down into something less frenzied but more arousing, at least for me.

After we broke for air Sherlock made a puzzled sound in his throat.

"What?" I asked.

"Well, I'm still not entirely sure I understand the appeal, but it wasn't bad, and it certainly increased my feeling of intimacy with you. You tasted like mint and tea and..." he trailed off.

I laid in bed smiling, listening to my crazy genius talk about what he'd learned from kissing. It was just so _Sherlock_ that I felt my heart would burst with affection.

"And what?" I prompted.

"I'm not sure how to describe it," he said slowly, "if goodness has a taste, you taste like it."

I laughed, "Wow, Sherlock, who knew you were such a romantic?"

He started to pull away.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I'm not making fun of you. I love it, it makes me feel good. You make me feel good."

He relaxed back into me and said, "You make me - good."

I kissed the top of his head.

"You _are_ good, Sherlock."

"Goodnight, John."

"Goodnight, Sherlock."

TBC...


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thanks to all of you for the lovely reviews and alerts this story has received! Each one brings a smile to my face!

**Warnings: **Intense kissing, no graphic sex though.

**Beta: **Jarri Scythe makes everything better!

Tension Makes a Tangle - 3

I awoke the next morning to the sound of my phone ringing. I was slightly surprised to find that Sherlock was still wrapped around me, his head on my chest.

I disentangled him from me with some difficulty and reached for my phone. I so seldom received calls or messages from anyone but Sherlock I was very curious as to who it might be. I picked it up and looked at the screen.

"It's Margaret," I said with some surprise.

Sherlock made some sort of muffled noise I couldn't interpret.

"Hello?" I asked as I answered the call.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"Hi, it's Margaret - Tim's mom?"

"Yes, of course. Is everything ok?" I'm not sure why I asked, but I was surprised by her call.

"Er, yes. That is, I was wondering, erm, if you might be available to grab a coffee or maybe lunch today?"

"Ah, well, I'll be at work at the surgery but if you'd like to meet for lunch I could meet up with you somewhere in the neighborhood."

"That would be perfect! Thanks."

We proceeded to make plans, I gave her the address and directions and we determined a time. I got increasingly distracted, as Sherlock began to run his hands over my body. He was also apparently sniffing my hair and neck, and the feel of his curls against my neck and face was making me squirm.

Once I hung up the phone I put my army training to work and before he could react I was on him and pinning him on the bed.

"What are you trying to do, Sherlock?" I asked in what I hoped was a threatening tone, although he could probably see I was trying not to smile.

He gasped a bit in surprise, and then briefly tried to struggle. Once he realized he was truly pinned, he threw his head back against the pillow and huffed, "I was amusing myself while you made a lunch date with Mycroft's...Mycroft's...whatever she is."

"Oh ho! Are we _jealous_?"

"Certainly not!" Sherlock asserted, attempting (and failing) to throw me off again.

"Ah, ah, none of that, my dear boy!" I gloated at him, relishing in having the upper hand for a change. "You're going to pay for trying to distract me from my private phone calls."

I proceeded to lightly run my lips up his neck, beginning down at his collar bones and up and ending just behind his ear. I was careful to just use my lips and not my tongue, as I still wasn't sure he was comfortable with idea of my saliva on his body. So I took my time, still holding him down securely and repeating the action several times while I whispered admonishments to him.

"That was very rude, Sherlock. You need to learn some manners."

I was not prepared for the reaction I got.

Sherlock gave a deep moan and followed that by gasping, "My _God!_ John!"

I looked up in surprise and saw that Sherlock had flushed dark pink and his pupils were blown so large his eyes looked dark.

"Please, kiss me, John," he panted.

If I wasn't still slightly nervous, I would have been smirking as I complied with his request. Sherlock usually had me feeling I was on the back foot, but I had found one area where I seemed to have the decided advantage.

As soon as my lips were on his, he opened for me, and although my heart was hammering as much from nervousness as excitement, I couldn't help but respond to the needy sounds he was making in the back of his throat.

After some fairly intense tongue wrestling, Sherlock tore his mouth away and gasped, "John, _please,_ let me touch you."

I didn't know what he wanted to do, but I let go of one of his wrists. He immediately snaked it up under my t-shirt and began running his hand over my chest. Then, he ran his fingertips over the scar on my shoulder and he stopped and pulled his hand away. I saw the look of shock and surprise cross his face. He'd never actually seen it, but now he'd felt it and reflexively pulled away. My heart sank at the reaction. I went from feeling confident and aroused to the old, broken down army doctor, invalided home and useless.

For a second, we stared at each other, then I let go of Sherlock and pulled away.

"I need to get ready for work or I'll be late," I said, feeling myself flush with embarrassment.

Sherlock said nothing, but I could feel him watching me as I got out my clothes to get ready. I gathered up what I needed and hurried to the bathroom to finish getting ready.

I made the morning tea, and I brought Sherlock's in to the bedroom for him. He reached out and took it from me, neither of us saying anything, but Sherlock studied me. I noticed that his pupils were back to a normal size.

"Don't forget, we're meeting Harry at the One-Eyed Dog tonight," I reminded him.

He nodded, and I left.

I tried to shake of my feelings of insecurity and inadequacy during the morning part of my shift. I've always been aware that Sherlock is a much better-looking man than I am. However, considering how good-looking he is, he is not vain about that. His vanity is entirely based on his intellect. However, his strong reaction to feeling my scar made me worry that he would no longer see me as physically attractive. And then I began to wonder what kind of alternate universe I was living in that caused me to worry about being attractive to another man.

My lunch break was a welcome relief, as I was certain that the novelty of meeting Margaret would certainly take my mind off of what had happened between Sherlock and me that morning.

I met Margaret outside the building and we went to a nearby cafe. We had barely sat down before Margaret launched into an apologetic explanation.

"I'm so sorry to push myself on you like this, John. But I'm at my wit's end and I don't know what to do."

"What's wrong?"

She paused, biting her lip, and then said, "It's Mycroft. Don't get me wrong, he's wonderful. I'm so glad that he's Taliesin's father and that he wants to be involved and help, but..." she seemed to be unsure of how to continue.

"Yes?" I prompted.

"Well," she said a little helplessly, "he's a bit...pushy. He wants me and Tim to move in with him. I've only known him for about a month! I know he's a good man. I know he wants what's best for Tim, but...I just can't give up my whole life like that, you know? And, it's just so strange. I mean, I," she dropped her voice to nearly a whisper, "I had a _baby_ with him, but I don't really _know_ him."

Although I could certainly sympathize with her, this conversation was making me very uncomfortable. Didn't she have any girlfriends to talk about this with?

She sensed my feelings and reached over and touched my hand, "I'm sorry John. I just don't know who to turn to in all this. I don't have any other family, and all of my friends are also academic colleagues and I don't want them to know about all this."

"I understand," I replied, "the Holmes family can be quite...overwhelming at times. So I can relate to how you're feeling."

Margaret smiled, "Yes, and there's no question that Tim is Mycroft's son. Even without the DNA test, after meeting Mycroft I knew. Tim is just like him: aloof, finicky, and frighteningly perceptive and needs to know _everything._ He's tried to boss me around since he was born. I don't know what I'm going to do with him in another five years."

She paused thoughtfully, "So I'm glad, really, that he has a father that can cope with those aspects of his personality, but now it seems like I'm getting it from both sides. They _both_ want to tell me what to do. Tim I can handle, he loves his mummy and wants to please me, but Mycroft sometimes frightens me."

She hastily added, "Not that he's made threats or done anything bad...it's just _him."_

I held up a hand, "You don't need to explain. You know how Mycroft and I met? He _kidnapped_ me, because he was concerned about who was moving in with his little brother. He's, er, very protective of those he loves. "

I paused as I stirred my tea, then continued, "I don't know how much help I can be, Margaret. The only advice I can really give you is to stand your ground with him. Be just as stubborn as he is. It's the only thing that seems to work, otherwise, yeah, he will boss you around. His intentions are good, he is a good man." (Here I mentally crossed my fingers because I wasn't entirely sure that I would approve of everything Mycroft has done, but I did believe his intentions were honorable, at least for the most part).

I continued, "And, don't forget, you're brilliant and capable as well. You deserve Mycroft's respect and don't let him forget that. Having said all that..." I paused, not knowing if I was overstepping a boundary here, but I wanted to be completely honest.

I cleared my throat and began again, "Having said all that, I wouldn't reject Mycroft's suggestion out of hand. I'm not sure what all Mycroft has told you, but he has an important position in the government and I know that he won't rest easy until he knows that both of you are adequately protected from any potential danger brought about by his work. So, he's not likely to let up on this issue."

Margaret stirred her food on her plate for a few seconds before replying, "Yes, he told me it was a minor position, but that he did have enemies that might come after us if they knew Tim was his son. I didn't know if it was a serious concern or not. Not that I think he would lie, but maybe he was exaggerating to make his point."

I replied, "I don't know how serious the threat may be, but any potential is going to drive Mycroft crazy unless he feels he can neutralize it. So, think about it...I'm sure you'll make the decision that's right for you and Tim."

She smiled, "Thanks John. I really appreciate your time and insight."

Our conversation drifted into other topics such as our work and my military service. We parted like the best of friends with Margaret promising to keep in touch and let me know if she needed to talk more.

"Of course," I said, "I know what it's like to need to talk about managing a Holmes, and you have two!"

We laughed and hugged and said goodbye and I returned to the surgery and my own worries.

TBC...


	4. Chapter 4

Tension Makes a Tangle - 4

I was a bit nervous, as Sherlock and I went into the pub that evening. I didn't know how either Sherlock or Harry would behave, and I didn't know if they would even be able to tolerate each other. Harry's and my relationship was strained as it was, so I couldn't predict what the result of introducing Sherlock would do.

We found Harry, already halfway through what I hoped was her first pint. She waved cheerfully at us and then gave me an enthusiastic hug. She looked pale, sickly, and far too thin.

I made the introduction between Harry and Sherlock, and as soon as they'd shaken hands, Harry was off and running.

"So," she began, "Sherlock Holmes, the famous detective! I've been dying to meet you for the longest time. I've read John's blog since the beginning. Do you know it's more about you than it is him? He absolutely adores you, you know."

After a brief pause when Sherlock didn't respond Harry continued, "So, please do your thing on me! What can you deduce?"

I could see Sherlock's lips thin in irritation, and he seemed to be biting back a nasty remark on my account, because he glanced at me briefly. He hates being treated like a performing bear at the circus.

"I'm afraid I already know enough about you and John that it really wouldn't be an entirely fair deduction on my part. I'm privy to information that I wouldn't normally have on just meeting someone," he said.

Harry made a disappointed face, "Well, you're no fun! And John said that you enjoy showing off!"

"Harry! I never said any such thing!" I looked over at Sherlock anxiously.

Sherlock merely looked bored and asked, "Shall we order?"

I ordered a pint with my dinner, but Sherlock stuck with water. Harry ordered another pint for herself with her meal.

Once that was done, Harry went back on the offensive: How were we getting on? Were we keeping busy? Could she hear any of the details on our cases that hadn't been made public? And then, of course, who was I currently dating?

"Erm," I replied, not knowing what to say. I hadn't discussed with Sherlock if we were going to be public or not.

"Me," Sherlock said shortly.

There was a beat of silence around the table, and then Harry was off again.

"I knew it! I knew it! (to Sherlock) I knew John was crazy about you. (to me) I always KNEW you'd finally get out of the closet! All those women you dated, they were never what you needed, were they?"

Harry giggled while I wanted to die of embarrassment.

"Harry, please…" I began, but she cut me off.

"Oh, what fun! We need to have a coming out party for you. And, the three of us can go out clubbing! Well, I have to say, John, you waited long enough, but I suppose it was worth the wait, eh? He's quite a looker, although I never thought you could be comfortable with someone that much taller than you are. But maybe it's what you like after all?"

"Harry!" I hissed through gritted teeth.

It made no difference, she kept going, but the next step was one too far.

"So Sherlock, how old were you when you knew you were gay?"

Sherlock looked at Harry coldly, "I don't know that I am. John is the first man I've ever had an interest in. I suspect that I, like most of the population, am bisexual in some degree. As for a preference for one gender over another, I cannot help you, as I've been celibate all my life due to a general lack of interest."

Harry gaped at him, but at least it shut her up for a few seconds.

She then turned to me and asked, "Is he serious?"

"Yes," I replied, I could feel the beginnings of a first-class headache.

She turned back to Sherlock, "So you've never dated? You've never...before John you were a..."

"Yes, now that we've covered my sexual history, let's discuss your drinking, hmm?" Sherlock began.

My toes curled, this was going to be bad.

"You drink at least 5 alcoholic drinks a day, and have been for most of your adult life. You keep a large bottle of liquor, probably cheap gin, by your bed to help you sleep and to help you get out of bed in the mornings. You're in the early stages of cirrhosis of the liver, which you know, but haven't told your brother. But the most puzzling thing to me is why you continue to choose alcohol over John? I would gladly never take another sip of an alcoholic beverage, if it meant I could stay in his life. Yet, given the choice you'd rather keep drinking than spend time with him. That seems incredibly stupid to me. You've not only estranged John, but your spouse and most of your friends. The only mates you have left are those who are as addicted as you are. Your finances and career are suffering, yet, you still won't quit. Why?"

Harry's eyes filled with tears. _Oh great, here comes Harry the victim!_

Even though I'd seen it dozens of times before, her tears still goaded me into protecting her.

"Sherlock, that's enough," I said, then turned to Harry, "Harry, you brought that on yourself. What were you thinking? You need to learn tact."

"Oh, _I_ need to learn tact? But your precious boyfriend doesn't?"

The tears began to spill.

"Harry, don't do this, please."

"Fine," she snapped, "I see how it is. You have _him_ now, so you don't need me anymore. Well, that's fine because I don't need you either."

Harry grabbed her purse and stormed out of the pub.

I groaned, reached for my wallet, and put down enough notes to cover the bill and followed her out, Sherlock close behind.

I was just in time to see Harry hop into a cab that sped away. I gave a deep sigh.

Sherlock was frowning. "That didn't make any sense."

I rubbed my face. "It was Harry trying to make us feel guilty for picking on her. Don't worry about it. I'm sorry she was so rude to you."

Sherlock shrugged, "How can I possibly complain? When she kidnaps me and begins having me followed everywhere I'll fuss, but until then I think I'm still the winner in this deal."

I chuckled weakly.

"Shall we go home?" asked Sherlock.

"Yeah, I guess."

We walked home in silence. I was caught between sadness and anger over my sister. It hurt to see her slowly killing herself, but everything I'd read about alcoholism told me that there was nothing I could do for her. She had to want to quit for herself.

After we were in the sitting room Sherlock came over and awkwardly put his arms around me and pulled me close.

"I'm sorry I upset your sister."

"You spoke nothing but the truth she needs to hear. Well, I'm assuming it was all true."

"Of course it was, I never guess."

I smiled into his suit jacket, "Yes you do."

Sherlock pulled away, "You smell like beer. I don't like that smell on you. It doesn't suit you."

"Sorry, I can't say that I'm overly fond of it myself," I said as I went into the kitchen to make tea.

After it was made, Sherlock started going through his mother's case files again while I checked my blog. I had a message on it from an old childhood school mate, asking me to get in touch with him at his email address. I sent him a quick line but didn't know quite what to say, as we hadn't spoken since school.

After that I felt pretty tired, so I decided it was time to shower and go to bed. It was early, but I was feeling emotionally drained from the dinner with Harry.

I wandered back into the sitting room in my pajamas after my shower and Sherlock immediately put down his computer and patted the couch next to him.

I sat down and he leaned down and drew a deep breath.

"That's better, "he said, "you smell like yourself again."

He tugged me down, until we were lying together on the couch, pressed close along the length of our bodies. There was no need for words, we just listened to each other breath and felt each other's heart beat. It didn't take long before I was asleep.

Sometime later Sherlock shook me gently, "John, let's go to bed. I want to get undressed."

I yawned and stretched, rubbing my body against his.

"Hmmm," he rumbled deeply, like the purr of a great cat.

I blinked up at him sleepily, he was smiling.

"Come on, John, bed."

I got up and sleepily made my way into the bedroom and crawled into the bed. Sherlock followed a few minutes later, assuming the same position that he had the previous night with his head on my chest. The last thing I remember is hearing his contented rumble again.

TBC...

**A/N**: Next chapter begins the new case. Thanks as always to Jarri Scythe for the beta work!


	5. Chapter 5

Tension Makes a Tangle - 5

I awoke the next morning to find that Sherlock had moved away from me during the night but still had one arm thrown across my chest. I lay still for a few moments, reviewing the events of the past few days. I was also debating on whether I should try to exit the bed without waking Sherlock.

I was still a little uncomfortable about his reaction to feeling my scar the previous morning. I was very self-conscious about it. There was no way it could be described as anything better than ugly. I had allowed few people to see it. Sarah had been one, but as a fellow doctor I had known exactly what her reaction would be: professional interest and personal, compassionate concern. There had been a time when I wouldn't have been too uncomfortable showing Sherlock as he would certainly have an interest in seeing a gunshot wound. I was only surprised he had never demanded to see it. But now that things had changed between us...

I got up carefully, gently placing Sherlock's arm aside. I got ready for work, but as I was taking a slightly later shift that day I decided to check my email before leaving. I discovered that I had a reply from my old schoolmate Percy Phelps, the one who had asked me via the blog to email him. As I mentioned we had attended school together at St. Mary's. He had been a brilliant student, winning every academic accolade the school had. He had gone on to Cambridge on a scholarship and had continued his success there.

I paused before opening the email, wondering what I would find. The sad truth was that Percy was one of those people whose memory lingered guiltily in my conscience. He had been bookish and withdrawn and, although it was widely known that his family was well-connected, he had been bullied rather mercilessly by some of the more obnoxious students of the school. For a brief period of time, I had been a fringe member of the gang of his tormentors. I was part of the school football team then and unfortunately, most of the school bullies were also on the team. I had become friendly with them, and there were a few times I had participated in chasing Percy around the school grounds. Although I never participated in any physical violence, I should never have taken any part of it.

Why was Percy contacting me now? I couldn't imagine that he wanted to reminisce about old times, since I didn't think he would have any fond memories of me.

This is how the email read:

_Hi John,_

_I'm so glad that you remember me, old "Tadpole" Phelps from St. Mary's. I don't know if you have heard anything about me since we left school, but through my uncle's connections I was hired by one of London's top publishing firms. I eventually became the senior editor, and was trusted with the firm's most important manuscripts. However, something horrible has happened that has destroyed my career, if not my entire life._

_I don't want to put the details in an email, but I would like to meet with you in person to discuss the situation. After the event, I had a complete mental and physical breakdown from which I am now recovering, but I am still very weak. Do you think you could bring your friend Mr. Holmes to see me? I would like to get his opinion, although, the authorities tell me that nothing more can be done. Please, if you can, have him come as soon as possible. I am so miserable that I can barely type this. Please let him know that even though the event was nine weeks ago, I didn't ask his help before because I was mentally incapacitated. __Even though__ I have recovered, __I am still afraid of relapsing__. Please, try to bring him._

_Thanks, _

_Percy_

I was surprised and humbled by his message. I felt quite badly for him, begging for my help when he had no reason to think well of me. I certainly would try to get Sherlock to go and listen to his story, whatever it might be.

However, it was time for me to leave for work, and Sherlock wasn't up yet. I emailed Percy back, letting him know that I would be happy to come, and that I would do my best to convince Sherlock to come as well. I asked him to send me his address and that I, at least, would be there the next day.

When I returned home from work that evening, I found Sherlock in the kitchen in his dressing gown over his pajamas. Apparently he had never bothered to get dressed that day. He was at the kitchen table, which was overrun with scientific equipment. When I approached him he waved me away impatiently so I retreated back to the living room.

"Just a minute, John," he called from the kitchen, "Lestrade has asked me to look into a very boring murder, and I've just about confirmed my suspicions."

There was a pause and then I heard him exclaim, "Yes! Just as I thought! Poisoning by carbolic acid!"

He came out of the kitchen looking pleased and grabbed his phone and began texting. Once he was finished he carelessly tossed his phone aside and collapsed dramatically on the couch.

"What is it, John? Something is bothering you," he said, looking at me sharply.

"Well, err, hmmm." Now that it had come time, I felt awkward asking Sherlock to look into a case as a personal favor.

"What?" Sherlock was getting impatient.

"I received an email this morning from an old schoolmate. Maybe it would be easier if you just read it for yourself."

I grabbed my laptop, pulled up the email, and let him read it.

"Your friend doesn't tell us much."

"No," I admitted.

"But you want me to take the case."

"Yes."

"Then I'm willing to go hear his story."

"Thanks, Sherlock. I appreciate it."

"This man means something to you?"

I hesitated, then said, "I'd like to help him, if I can."

Sherlock looked at me thoughtfully but said nothing more.

"So," I said to change the subject, "been busy today?" , gesturing at his pajamas.

He grimaced and said, "I've been holding off working on my mother's case, so as to not draw any attention, but it was preying on my mind. Then Lestrade stopped by with this silly murder and wanted me to look into it. Waste of my time, but I suppose it gave me something to do."

"Ready for dinner?"

He shrugged, "Are you offering to make it?"

"Yeah, consider it a thank you."

I went into the kitchen and pulled out some pasta. Boiling up a pot of pasta is one of my favorite standbys for a quick and easy meal.

Sherlock followed me into the kitchen.

"A thank you for what?" he asked.

"Going with me to Woking tomorrow."

"You don't need to thank me for that."

"Well, I'm grateful just the same. I know how particular you usually are about the cases you take."

"I'd do anything for you, John."

I turned and looked at him in surprise, he looked at bit surprised himself, as if it had popped out before he realized it.

"That is, anything I could do, I'd be willing to do, or at least try to do..." he trailed off, flushing slightly.

I put down the box of pasta and went over and pulled him into a hug which he returned hesitantly.

"Sherlock, I'd do anything for you as well."

"I know it," he replied, "the difference is, you've already proven it, but I don't feel that I have."

I put my hands on either side of his face and pulled him into a gentle kiss, then I pulled back and smiled at him.

"All the proof I need," I said.

"Well, that was surprisingly easy," he replied smiling.

"Alright, out so I can cook," I said, "it won't take too long, 15 or 20 minutes or so."

"Perfect, I'll take a shower and be back when you're ready."

TBC

**A/N: **I hope any readers of this story are not overly upset by John's admission of participating in bullying. But, the sad fact is in the ACD story Dr. Watson admits to having bullied Percy Phelps, even beating him. I can only imagine that a 21st century John Watson would feel badly about the past, given that bullying is not accepted as "normal" any longer.

**Beta: **The always wonderful Jarri Scythe!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Wow! Thanks so much to all of my lovely readers for the reactions to this story! I am quite overwhelmed by all your kind words. Please don't hesitate to give me constructive criticism as well, I'd like to get better at this as I go along.

**Beta: **Jarri Scythe is awesome!

Tension Makes a Tangle 6

About half an hour later Sherlock and I were on the couch watching telly as we ate the pasta I'd prepared. I was listening to Sherlock pick apart the contestants on a game show when a news bulletin during a break caught our attention.

It seemed that some high government official (I won't put his name down here, just in case this ever comes to light) had been arrested for the murder of an intern in his office several years ago. The case had been unsolved, but some new evidence had come to light implicating the politician.

I felt Sherlock tense up beside me. I turned and looked at him, but his eyes were riveted to the screen. He carefully set his plate down on the coffee table, without looking away. His face was completely blank as he watched the man being taken from his home in handcuffs and put into a police car.

Once the report was over, he got up off the couch without comment, walked into the bathroom and began heaving. I was about to follow him to check on him when Sherlock's phone chimed. I picked it up and found the message from a blocked number. It read simply: 1/7.

I put the phone down and hurried to the bathroom. Sherlock was rinsing his mouth out, looking drained and pale.

"Sherlock, are you all right?" _God that sounds so stupid, he's obviously not "all right."_

He pushed past me, still with a blank look and went into the bedroom. I followed him in to find him slipping into bed and curling into a ball.

I sat on the bed next to him and stroked his back in what I hoped was a comforting manner while I tried to think of something to say.

"I thought I would feel happy," he finally said, his voice rough from the vomiting.

"I'm so sorry, Sherlock," I said, feeling a bit helpless.

"Why don't I feel happy, John? I was successful. The man will be in jail for probably the rest of his life. He got what he deserved. Why am I not happy?"

I laid down and pulled him into me as best I could.

"Because the bastard's in jail doesn't bring your mum back. Maybe you're just realizing that."

"I _already_ knew that," he spat bitterly.

"Knowing and experiencing are two different things, love," I said.

There was a long silence. I could feel that his body was still strung tight with tension.

"Sherlock, it's ok to grieve," I finally said quietly.

"No," he said flatly.

"Why?" I asked.

"I have to finish. I have to keep my mind clear. If I let emotion cloud my judgment, it could ruin everything."

"Not dealing with your loss brings its own sort of blindness which can be just as damaging."

"Go away, John."

"Why?"

"I need to be alone."

I felt hurt, but decided it was probably best to leave him for the time being. I left the bedroom, closing the door behind me. I spent the next several hours cleaning up dinner and tidying the flat a bit, but eventually came back into the bedroom to get ready for bed.

Sherlock was no longer curled into a ball, but he didn't acknowledge my presence. When I was ready I slipped into bed beside him but he took no notice.

"Goodnight Sherlock," I said softly, knowing he was still awake.

"Goodnight John," he replied in his flat, emotionless voice.

It took awhile, but I eventually fell into a restless sleep. At some point in the night I was awakened by the sound of Sherlock's violin from the sitting room. He was playing Barber's _Adagio for Strings_. It was so beautiful and sad that I wondered how he could produce such sounds without allowing himself to feel it in his own psyche.

After he finished that piece, he went on to play some other sad melodies until I finally fell back asleep.

I awoke the next morning to find Sherlock had rejoined me in bed at some point and was, in fact, wrapped more tightly around me than he ever had been before. And, dear God, what was _that_ pressed against my thigh? _Oh, this is going to be awkward._

"Sherlock," I said, shaking him gently, "Sherlock, wake up. We've got to go to Woking."

Sherlock mumbled something I couldn't understand and only squeezed me tighter, rocking his hips against me slightly. I was totally unprepared for the wave of testosterone that suddenly crashed through my bloodstream. I felt uncomfortably warm and was having to resist rocking myself against Sherlock in return. This was not going to get us to Percy's in a timely manner. I took a deep calming breath. _Think unsexy thoughts..._

"Sherlock," I shook him again, "I've got to get up. Leggo."

Sherlock groaned in protest, but rolled away from me and put his head under the covers.

"I promised Percy," I reminded him, "do you still want to come?"

"Yes, yes," a hand emerged from under the duvet and waved irritably, "I'll be up...just give me a minute," he grumbled.

Less than two hours later we were walking up to the large house Percy had directed me to. The door was answered by a man about my age with a ruddy complexion and cheerful grin.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "I'm so glad that you came!"

He shook our hands as he continued with enthusiasm, "Percy has been anxiously waiting for you all morning. Poor bloke, he's desperate for any ray of hope. Mr. and Mrs. Phelps, his parents, are just as devastated, can't bear to see anyone, so I've been left to answer the door."

Sherlock said, "You are not a member of the Phelps family."

The man looked surprised, then glanced down at himself and laughed.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, "you saw the J.H. monogram on my tie pin. You surprised me for a minute. My name is Joe Harrison. Percy is engaged to my sister Annie, so I'll be related by marriage. Annie is in Percy's room with him. She's hardly left him alone since he collapsed two months ago. I'll take you to him immediately."

As he spoke he ushered us into the house and into a large bedroom on the ground floor. I saw Percy looking very pale and exhausted lying on a sofa by a large window. A woman was sitting beside him, but she got up as we came in.

"Should I leave?" she asked.

He grabbed her hand and stopped her, shaking his head as he greeted me.

"How are you, John? The years have not been so kind to either of us, I understand from your blog. This must be your famous friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

After the introductions were finished, Sherlock and I sat down. Joe left the room, but Annie remained, still holding hands with Percy. She was short and plump but with a clear, bright complexion and dark brown eyes and long, black hair. Her vivid colors made poor Percy look even more frail and sickly next to her.

Sherlock gave Percy a kind smile and said, "I understand that you have been very unwell. Please tell me the circumstances of your case, so that I can determine what I might do to help. I'll do whatever I can to help one of John's friends."

I smiled at Percy at those words, but not without an inward twinge of guilt.

Percy smiled back at us and began his story.

TBC...


	7. Chapter 7

Tension Makes a Tangle - 7

"I don't want to waste your time if it's a hopeless case, Mr. Holmes, so I'll try to be as brief as possible. I was happy, successful, and about to get married when this happened, and ruined my life. I was, as John may have told you, employed at one of the world's largest publishing firms. Since I was hired out of Cambridge, I had risen to the position of senior editor, where I have been responsible for the publishing of many of the most important books produced in the last dozen or so years. About ten weeks ago I was informed that my next assignment had just been received. It was a new manuscript from Britain's most famous writer. It was a draft of a new novel, one that the writer had sworn would never be written, although millions around the world were clamoring for it. It was guaranteed to be an instant publishing success. However, the writer had demanded that it be kept absolutely secret through the editing process. If word of it were to leak out, the writer threatened to pull out of the publishing agreement with us, which would cost the firm untold millions of pounds.

Therefore, I was told the file containing the manuscript had to be kept secure at all costs. I was not to take it home in either electronic or paper form, and I was only to work on it after hours, when it would not be possible for visitors to my office to pop in and see it."

Sherlock held up his hand, "Just a moment - who gave you this assignment?"

"The director of the firm."

"Were you alone when he gave you the assignment?"

"Yes."

"Large room? Small room?"

"We were in his office, which is fairly large, but no one else was there."

"Door open or closed?"

"Closed."

"Thank you, go on." Sherlock closed his eyes, a sign that he was at least concentrating on Percy's story.

"The file was sent to me electronically on our secure server, under an encryption that only I and the director have access to. My computer can only be accessed by password, and I only have that password. I did not open the file until I had left for dinner and then come back, so that all of my co-workers had departed for the day. I then began printing out the file on my personal printer, as I find it hard to do my editing work on the computer. I like to be able to write on the manuscript. I hoped to have the document printed and stored in my office safe in time to meet Joe at the station to catch the 11pm train so that we could ride back here together.

"As I watched the papers spitting out of my printer, I felt very excited. I felt so privileged to have the first look at a work that would bring joy to millions of readers. I was so excited that I couldn't help pulling off the first batch of papers and beginning to read the work from the beginning while I waited for the rest to print. It was a very long document, about 500 pages, and I had to refill my printer before it finished printing.

"In my first read-through of a document I only make brief notes to myself, so I had been able to read the first nine chapters by 9pm. By then I was getting very tired and felt I needed a cup of coffee. The overnight security guard has a coffee-maker in his office just off the main door of the building. I called down to him, and he said he'd bring some up to me in a bit.

"About five minutes later I heard footsteps approaching, so I left my office and met a woman in the hall I'd never seen before. She explained that she was the guard's wife, and had been hired to clean the building at night. She brought me my coffee on instructions from her husband.

"After she left I went back to the manuscript and read two more chapters. I had finished the cup of coffee, but was still feeling very sleepy. I decided to walk down to the security office and get myself another cup, hoping that the second cup and the walk would clear my head.

"I left my office and went down the hall to the staircase. There is one flight of stairs, then a landing with two flights of stairs. One goes forward to the ground floor and main door of the building. The other, smaller staircase branches off at 90 degrees and leads down to a side door that is generally only used by employees. The guard's office is just inside the main door, so I continued forward and went down the main staircase. Does this make sense?"

"Yes, I think I understand completely," said Sherlock.

"If you have any questions, ask, because these details are very important. When I arrived at the security office the guard was fast asleep at his desk. I was just about to wake him up and ask for another mug of coffee when the phone on his desk rang, with the inter-office ring.

"Mr. Phelps!" exclaimed the guard as he woke due to the phone.

"I came down to see about getting more coffee," I said

"He looked at the phone and then me with confusion."

"If you're here, who's calling me from your office line?" he asked.

"Well, I panicked. Someone was in my office with the invaluable manuscript on my desk! I ran back upstairs and along the hall. There was no one in the stairs or hallway, and no one in my office. Everything was exactly as I'd left it, except that the manuscript was now missing."

Sherlock had sat up straight in his chair as he listened, and now rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm.

"What did you do then?" he asked.

"I realized that the thief could only have come up the stairs from the side door, if not, I would have seen him coming the other way."

"It isn't possible that he could have been hiding in your office or in the hallways anywhere?"

"Absolutely impossible. There is no place to hide in my office or the hallways. All the other offices had been closed and locked. We checked afterwards."

"Thank you, go on."

"The security guard had followed me upstairs, so we both rushed down the side stairs to the entrance on Charles Street. We found that the side door had been propped open. I'll return to that point later. We ran out into the street. I remember that just then I heard three chimes from Big Ben, so it was a quarter to ten."

"Very good," said Sherlock, making a note of it on his little notebook he keeps in his inside breast pocket.

"There was no one on Charles Street so we ran down to the main avenue and on the corner there was a policeman. I informed him that we'd had a robbery and asked him if anyone had passed by and he said in the fifteen minutes he had been there only one person had gone by. I asked for the description and he said it was a tall woman with a paisley scarf over her head. There was a light rain falling at the time.

"The security guard said the woman must have been his wife, but asked again if anyone else had gone by, but the policeman insisted no one had.

"The security guard said that the thief must have run the other way down Charles Street and tried to get me to come with him, but I became suspicious of him and his wife so I asked the policeman which way the woman had gone. He said he didn't notice, beyond her walking past him in a hurry.

"How long ago was this?" I asked.

"About five minutes ago," said the policeman.

"The security guard became more agitated and insisted that I was wasting my time as his wife couldn't have had anything to do with the theft. He then took off in the other direction, as he had said we should. I followed him and grabbed his sleeve and asked where he lived. He told me, but still insisted that we go down to the other end of Charles Street to see if we could find anything. The policeman came with us, but there was nothing to see but people going about their business, no one had been lingering, due to the rain, so no one had seen anything."

"We went back to the building and searched the offices, stairs, and hallways, but found nothing, not even traces of wet footprints."

"Had it been raining all evening?" asked Sherlock.

"Since about seven."

"So there were no wet footprints, even though the night was wet," mused Sherlock, "this chain of events is very interesting. So, why was the side door propped open?"

"The security guard later told the policeman and me that his wife would often leave it open to remove the trash from the building, and would sometimes forget to close it behind her, as she had a habit of leaving through the front door."

"Sounds like you need a new cleaning woman."

"They've both been fired since this happened."

"What did you do next?"

"We checked my office thoroughly. The windows are thirty feet from the ground and they were fastened on the inside. We couldn't find any other method of getting into the room other than from the hallway. Whoever stole that manuscript had to have come in the side door. What I can't understand is, why did the thief call down to the security office from my phone? It is a complete mystery to me."

"It is very unusual. Did the police dust for prints?"

"Yes, but they found nothing useful. The partially smudged marks that weren't mine matched nothing on file."

"Did you examine the room for anything the intruder might have dropped or left behind?"

"There was nothing. The only fact that I know is that the guard's wife, Mrs. Tangey had hurried away from the building at about the time I went downstairs. The guard claimed that she usually left at about that time. The policeman and I agreed that she should be taken into custody before she could get rid of the document, assuming that she had them.

"The policeman called in to Scotland Yard and a Detective Forbes came out and we went to the address of the couple. When we got there, the door was opened by the Tangeys' oldest daughter. She said her mother hadn't come home yet, so we waited.

"In about ten minutes we heard the woman arrive and her daughter tell her that two men were waiting for her. We heard footsteps run to the back of the house, so we left the sitting room and ran down the hallway following the noise. We came out into the kitchen to find Mrs. Tangey looking angry and defiant, but then she recognized me and her expression changed to surprise.

"Mr. Phelps! What are you doing here?" she asked.

"The detective said, "Who did you think we were when you were running from us?"

"I thought maybe you were repo-men," she said, "we've gotten behind on some of our bills."

"I don't believe you," said Forbes, "we suspect you may have taken an important document from the publisher and that you ran in here to hide it. You must come back to the station to be searched."

"And, that is what happened, after the detective searched the kitchen, but there were no places she would have been able to hide the document, as large as it was, that quickly.

"The woman was arrested, searched, but released when it was determined that she did not have the document on her person, and we had no proof that she had taken it.

"It was there in the police station, after the search, that I began to fully realize what a horrible situation I was in. While we were pursuing a possible lead, I believed I would be able to get the document back. I hadn't spent time thinking about what would happen if I didn't. But now, there was nothing left to be done. John here can tell you that I was a nervous and sensitive boy when we knew each other in school. I thought about my family, my uncle, who had helped get me my position, and the shame I had brought on him and my entire family. I had been careless and had left the manuscript unattended. My career was ruined, and my personal reputation was ruined as well. I think I collapsed there in the station. I have a dim memory of officers around me trying to comfort me. I remember refusing any medical treatment, and a police officer drove me here.

"You can imagine what an uproar it caused in the house, with the policeman bringing me home in a state of near collapse. I frightened my mother and poor Annie almost to death. I wasn't in any state to be able to walk upstairs, so Joe had to give up this nice guest bedroom and it was turned into my sickroom. My family didn't want a further scandal from me being admitted to a mental-health facility, so I have been treated by specialists here at home. So here I've been, Mr. Holmes, for nine weeks at varying degrees of sanity. If it weren't for my doctors and Annie I wouldn't be speaking to you now. Annie is with me during the day and I have a home nurse at night. It's only been a few days that my memory has fully returned. Sometimes, I wish it hadn't. The first thing I did was to call Detective Forbes who is still in charge of the case. He informed me that at this point there is nothing more the police can do. So, Mr. Holmes, you are my only hope. If my career is going to be salvaged at all, the manuscript must be found. As it is, I have been placed on unpaid leave, and the task of editing the manuscript has been given to someone else."

Percy then fell back against the couch, exhausted from his long story, as his fiancée poured him a glass of water. Sherlock sat back in his chair, with his head back and his eyes closed, his hands steepled under his chin, as he does when he is deep in thought.

TBC...

**Beta: **Jarri Scythe


	8. Chapter 8

Tension Makes a Tangle - 8

After a moment of silence, Sherlock spoke up, "Your description has been so clear that I only have a few questions to ask. The most important one is: Did you tell anyone that you had this special manuscript to edit?"

"No one."

"Not even Miss Harrison, for example?"

"No. I had not spoken to her from the time I received the assignment until I returned home in my daze."

"And no one outside of your coworkers had come by your office to visit you that day?"

"Nobody."

"Do your personal acquaintances know their way in the building to your office?"

"Yes, most of my friends and relatives have visited me there."

Sherlock mused, "But, if you said nothing to anyone about the manuscript..."

"I swear, I said nothing!"

"What do you know about the security guard?"

"He's an ex-soldier - from the Coldstream Guards."

"Hmmm. Well, I can get more details from Detective Forbes. The police are efficient at collecting facts, but they don't always know how to use them."

Sherlock's gaze was directed at the wall behind me. He suddenly got up and went over to it and stood in front of a shadow box that was hanging there, probably had been for decades. It displayed a collection of butterflies. I've always thought such displays were rather macabre, but Sherlock seemed quite fascinated.

"This is a lovely collection," he murmured. I looked again at the box, but only saw a collection of various, long-dead butterflies. The shimmering lights reflected off their iridescent wings seemed like a sad mockery of the flights they were denied by their capture. I couldn't understand what Sherlock found so interesting; he'd never shown much interest in the aesthetics of natural objects that I could remember.

After some more thoughtful silence Sherlock continued, "I think the best proof of a source of absolute Good in the universe is the existence of butterflies. Every other thing I can think of, our desires, our abilities, our creativity - they're all required for our existence. But butterflies are extra. They are pollinators, but not critical ones. They are also prey for some species, but again, not critical. Butterflies can, and in some cases have, disappeared completely without the ecosystem missing them. They seem to only exist to be improbably beautiful metaphors of resurrection. If I have a hope in religion or the afterlife, it's because of butterflies."

I looked up at his face, which was uncharacteristically expressive. He was looking profoundly sad, but with a ghost of a smile. He then looked down at me and as our eyes met I was seized with an intense desire to wrap myself around him and never let him go. I wanted to soothe all of his hurt and pain, although I knew it wasn't possible. But I decided that I was never going to let him shut me out again, as he had last night.

The other two occupants of the room, of course, had no idea of the significance of Sherlock's musings and were only confused. They had no idea that they had been given a rare glimpse into the beating heart of one of the world's most brilliant minds.

Finally, it was Annie who spoke up rather impatiently, "Do you see a possibility of solving this mystery, Mr. Holmes?"

"Oh!" Sherlock exclaimed, a bit startled, "yes, the mystery. Well, the case is very complicated but I promise that I will look into it and let you know of anything I find."

Percy then asked, with hope in his voice, "Do you see any clues?"

Sherlock smiled, "Yes, you have given me seven, but I have to follow them up before I can say if they will lead anywhere."

"Do you suspect someone?"

"I suspect myself."

"What?"

"Of jumping to a conclusion too soon."

"Then go and test your theories," Annie said with a bit of irritation. It seemed she did not approve of Sherlock's attempt to be playful.

"Thanks for the advice, Miss Harrison," said Sherlock, "come on, then, John. Don't get your hopes too high, Mr. Phelps, this case is quite tangled."

"I won't be able to rest until I hear from you," said Percy.

"Well, I promise I will stop by and see you again tomorrow, but it's very probable that I won't have good news for you."

"Thank you for promising to come," said Percy, "I can't tell you what it means to me to know that something is being done. I've been assured by my employer that I won't be fired until I have my health back and have had a chance to restore the missing manuscript."

"Well, that seems fairly reasonable," said Sherlock. "Come on John, we have work to do in London."

Joe Harrison gave us a lift back to the station, and we were soon on a train back to central London. I wanted to take Sherlock's hand and maybe say something about what he'd said back at the Phelps' residence, but he immediately started furiously working on his phone.

After a lengthy silence he spoke, "I suppose your friend Percy isn't a heavy drinker?"

"I couldn't say for certain, but I don't think so."

"I agree, but we need to explore every possibility. Your friend has got himself into very deep water, and I don't know if we'll be able to get him out or not. What do you think of Miss Harrison - Annie?"

"She certainly seems very devoted to Percy."

"Yes. I'm doing a bit of research on both her and Percy. It's amazing what people will expose about themselves on internet social sites. She and her brother Joe are from Northumberland. Percy got engaged to her last winter while vacationing in the area. A few months ago she was on a visit here with her brother to get acquainted with Percy's family. Then, this all happened, and she's stayed on as a nurse for her lover, and Joe's stayed on as well. But, we'll be doing more research today. I think we should begin by going to see this Detective Forbes. I want to hear all the details he may have that we didn't get from Percy."

"What are these seven clues you have?"

"Well, we have to start by asking who profits from this crime? Now, there are probably many news organizations that would pay big sums of money to have an advance copy of an unexpected work from a popular author. Leaking the news of it would result in massive revenue. It's not hard to imagine that anyone finding themselves in possession of such a manuscript would realize this. One person we ought to take a close look at is the director who passed the manuscript to Percy."

"The director?"

"Well, he is one of the few people who knew of the manuscript's existence. It could be that he wishes to discredit Percy for some reason, or merely use him to make a tidy sum of money on the side."

"But it would be so damaging to the publishing house!"

Sherlock shrugged, "It could be that is less important than the possibility of the personal profit. It is only a possibility, but we can't ignore it. I will interview the director today and see if he can tell us anything. In the meantime, I'm pursuing another angle. I've just sent an advertisement to the papers and news sites."

He showed me his phone which read: "£100 reward. The number of the cab which dropped a fare at or about the location of B- Publishing House in Charles Street at 22:45 on July 22. Please apply 221B, Baker St. or ."

"You think the thief came in a cab?"

Sherlock shrugged again, "Worth a try. If Percy is correct in saying that there is no hiding place in his office or in the hallways and all the other offices were locked and empty, then the person must have come from the outside. If he or she came from outside on a wet night and left no wet footprints to be found ten or so minutes afterwards, then it is probable that he or she came in a cab."

"Makes sense."

"It's one of the seven clues, John. It may get us somewhere. And then there is the phone call from Percy's office - the strangest part of the case. Why did the phone ring? Was it the thief, taunting Percy? Or was it someone with the thief, trying to stop the crime? Or was it an accident? Or was it - ?"

Sherlock broke off, lost in deep thought. I could almost feel heat from his brain as it turned the facts over in his mind. I suspected that some new possibility had occurred to him, and he wanted to consider it carefully.

He didn't speak again until we reached our destination.

TBC...

**A/N:** I know that Sherlock seems as if he should be the world's most determined atheist, but the original ACD story has a similar incident of religious/philosophical pondering in it. It just seemed to me that given recent events and his current state of mind and emotions that it fits well here.

**Beta: **Jarri Scythe!


	9. Chapter 9

Tension Makes a Tangle - 9

When we arrived at our destination, I insisted that we stop for a late lunch. Sherlock reluctantly agreed, and I even managed to get him to eat a little bit.

"I can't believe I have another missing document case," Sherlock grumbled over his sandwich which he was dissecting, "can't anyone take proper care of their things?"

"Sorry," I apologized. "It's my fault. Percy's my - friend, after all."

"Yes, but you hesitate to call him a friend. Why?"

"Erm, we weren't really friends back in school. More like just school-mates, really."

I was a little worried Sherlock would insist on more information, and I would end up telling him the whole truth, but he seemed distracted. I still wanted to talk to him about his show of emotion earlier, but decided it should wait until we got home.

Once I had finished my lunch we left; Sherlock had long since stopped picking at his. We caught a cab to Scotland Yard. On the way there Sherlock called ahead and confirmed that Forbes would be able to meet with us.

When we arrived he was waiting, and he did not look friendly.

"I've heard about you, Mr. Holmes, from others here," he said. "You use all the information that the police provide, and then you try to finish the case yourself and embarrass us."

"Not true," said Sherlock, "out of my last fifty-three cases with the Yard my name has only appeared in four of them, and the police have had all the credit in the other forty-nine. I don't blame you for not knowing this, as you seem to be new here, but you should seriously consider working with me and not against me."

The detective gave him a sharp look, but seemed to decide to play nice for the time being.

"I'd appreciate a hint or two," he said. "I haven't really gotten anywhere so far."

"What has been done?"

"Well, not much, we have had Mr. Tangey investigated, but we can't find anything against him. I'm not so sure about his wife. I think she knows more about this than she says. Unfortunately, I have no evidence against her."

"Have you followed her?"

"Not constantly. She's a drinker, and we've had one of our women with her a few times when she was quite drunk, but we could never get her to admit to anything."

"I understand that they have had money troubles?"

"Yes, but that has been resolved."

"Where did they get money?"

"There had been a problem with Mr. Tangey's pension, but it was paid up in full. They show no evidence of having any unusual funds."

"Why did she bring the coffee up to Mr. Phelps instead of her husband?"

"She said that her husband was very tired and wanted to help him."

Sherlock chuckled, "Well, that rings true as Mr. Phelps found him asleep in his chair. Did you ask her why she hurried away that night? Her speed got the attention of the policeman that saw her."

"She said she was later than usual, it was raining, and she wanted to get home."

"Yet you and Mr. Phelps started toward her home at least twenty minutes after she did, and you still got there before her?"

"She said that was the difference between taking a bus and a taxi."

"Did she explain why she ran into the kitchen once she heard about the men waiting for her?"

"She said she had the money hidden there to pay off the repo-men."

Sherlock smiled, "Well she has an answer for everything. Did you ask her if she met or saw anyone in Charles Street that evening?"

"She said she saw no one but the policeman."

"You did a good job in interrogating her. What else have you done?"

"Well, we have nothing else to go on. No evidence at all."

"Do you have any theories about the strange phone call from the office to the guard's room?"

"I have to admit that I have no idea. It must have been a very confident criminal to sound the alarm on himself."

"Yes, it was a very strange thing to do. Thank you very much for this information. If I can discover the guilty party you will hear from me. Let's go, John."

"Where to now?" I asked as we left Scotland Yard.

"We're going to the publishing house to interview the director who gave Percy the manuscript."

We were lucky to find the director still at work, and we were allowed to see him in spite of not having a prior appointment. Yet another sign that Sherlock's name was becoming a force to be reckoned with. We were shown into his large, luxurious office. He was tall and slender with curly grey hair. He asked us to sit down, while he stood between our two chairs.

"Your name is familiar to me, Mr. Holmes," the man said, smiling. "There has only been one event here that would call for your presence. In whose interest are you acting, may I ask?"

"Mr. Percy Phelps," answered Sherlock.

"Ah! Yes, poor man. I'm sure you can see that I cannot protect him from the consequences of his action of leaving the manuscript unattended. I'm afraid that this situation will result in the end of his career in publishing."

"If the document is found?"

"That would make an important difference, as long as it hasn't been compromised."

"Then I have one or two questions I'd like to ask you."

"I'll give you any information I have."

"Was it this room that you gave the instructions to Mr. Phelps about editing the manuscript?"

"It was."

"Then you would not have been overheard?"

"I don't see how."

"Did you ever mention to anyone that you intended to give Mr. Phelps the assignment?"

"Never."

"You are certain of that?"

"Absolutely."

"Well, since you never told anyone, and Mr. Phelps never told anyone, and nobody else knew anything about it, then the thief must have come across the manuscript by accident. He saw his chance and took it."

The director smiled, "I'll leave the detective work to you."

Sherlock was quiet for a moment then said, "There is another important thing I want to discuss with you. One would assume that if the manuscript was stolen, it would have been for the purpose of leaking it to the press."

The director looked grim, "Yes, any number of organizations would pay a lot of money for such a coup."

"Has it been leaked?"

"So far, I have not heard that it has."

"If the manuscript was received by one of those organizations you mention, you think you would hear about it?"

"Oh yes, we all would. It would be front page news, most likely."

"Well, almost ten weeks have passed since the theft, and nothing has been heard. Would you think it would be safe to assume that for some reason the manuscript has not been leaked?"

The director shrugged.

"Well Mr. Holmes, I can't imagine that the thief took the manuscript just for his own reading pleasure because he was a fan!"

"Maybe he is waiting for a better price?"

"Well, if he waits too long he will get nothing at all. Soon the news of the forthcoming book will be announced."

"That is very important," said Sherlock. "Of course, there is the possibility that the thief may have been the victim of a sudden illness..."

"A nervous breakdown, for example?" asked the director looking intently at Sherlock.

"I did not say that," said Sherlock with a bland expression. "Well, we have taken enough of your time. I appreciate you making the time to speak with us."

"I wish you success in your investigation, whoever the criminal is," said the director as he ushered us from his office.

TBC...


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Warning - some sexual content. If it were on film, would qualify for an "R" rating for suggestive content and talk about sex.

**Beta:** Jarri Scythe was absolutely instrumental in getting this chapter finished. She's the best!

Tension Makes a Tangle - 10

As we exited the building from the main entrance, Sherlock began looking for a taxi.

"Nothing left to do today, John, unless I get an answer to my ad about the cab. We should probably head home in case anyone does show up."

Once we were back in the flat I shut the door behind us and took Sherlock's hand and led him to the couch.

"Sherlock, sit down, please," I said as I sat down myself, gently pulling on him so that he sat down next to me.

"What?" Sherlock had a look on his face that indicated he was trying to decide if he was annoyed or not.

"I just want you to sit and listen to me for a moment. I know you're going through a lot right now, and I'm really sorry to have dumped a case on top of it all. And I know you think you can handle it, and for what it's worth I think you can as well. But you do need to take care of yourself, and you need to let me help you. I don't expect you to want to talk about how you feel, but if you do, I'm listening."

Sherlock was staring at me, looking extremely confused, and just slightly suspicious.

"John I -" he broke off and looked down, took a deep breath and continued, "I don't know what to say."

"That's fine; I just want you to know that if you want to talk, I want to listen, yeah? But for now I just want you to take it easy for a few hours. Take off your shoes."

Sherlock looked at me in surprise.

"Doctor's orders. Take off your shoes," I repeated.

He bent over and took off his shoes. I took off mine as well.

"Good, now you're going to lay here and rest. I know you didn't sleep well last night, so I just want you to be still and let me care for you for a bit."

While I was talking, I swiftly took hold of him and swung us both sideways so that he was reclining on top of me lengthwise on the couch. In spite of his height and surprising strength, I had caught him unsuspecting, so he was settled between my legs with the back of his head pillowed on my chest before he had a chance to react.

"There," I said, "are you comfortable?"

"I think so," replied Sherlock in a small voice.

I smiled, "Good, now just relax."

"John," he protested weakly.

"Shush, now close your eyes," I ordered firmly but softly.

He tilted his head up and looked at me, pouting slightly. I frowned back and he sighed and closed his eyes.

I began massaging his scalp, knowing that it was pleasurable and relaxing for most people, and gave me the opportunity to run my fingers through his hair. It didn't take long before he was making his contented rumbles deep in his chest.

I smiled as I continued, gradually working my way down his neck and then began working his shoulders. The purring increased slightly in volume, and I could see his toes flexing in his socks. Once I felt I'd finished I wrapped my arms over his chest and bent over and kissed the top of his head.

He sighed contentedly and put his hands over mine, lacing our fingers together.

"I feel so comfortable, I could fall asleep," he said.

"That's the idea."

"You don't mind?"

"Mind? No, it's what I wanted for you."

"Ok then, you're the doctor."

He was asleep almost immediately. I could feel the change come over his body as he completely relaxed and the rhythm of his breathing and heart slowed. Not long after, I followed him.

We slept for just about an hour before Sherlock stirred, stretched, sat up, and declared himself hungry. I was a bit surprised, but immediately agreed to his proposal that we go to Angelo's for dinner.

After freshening up a bit we set off on the short walk, arriving in just about five minutes. Angelo was happy to see us, as always and sat us at a candlelit table. I suddenly realized that we hadn't been here since the change in our relationship. From the way Sherlock was looking at me across the table, it looked as if he was realizing that himself. He gave me a bit of a self-conscious smile, and then busied himself with the garlic bread.

After arriving home from dinner, we both began getting ready for bed, in spite of our earlier nap. Sherlock had proclaimed himself tired on the way home, and I was still anxious to stick close to him. I wanted to be there in case he did get the urge to talk about what he was currently going through.

We each had a shower and soon we were curled up in bed, Sherlock's head on my chest. He wasn't inclined to talk, however, and only gave me a sleepy goodnight and a reminder that we had to go back down to visit Percy in the morning.

The next morning I awoke to find myself much in the same position as the previous morning. Sherlock was wrapped around me, his morning erection pressed firmly into my thigh. I laid there for a few minutes, trying to decide what to do. At some point we were going to have to figure out what kind of physical relationship we were going to have, but it seemed like a bad idea to experiment on a morning when we already had a commitment.

"I know you're awake, John."

"Good morning to you too, Sherlock."

There was a brief pause, and then Sherlock said quietly, "You can take me, if you want."

He rocked his hips against me; I suppose to make sure I understood his meaning. However, I had no idea what to say. I had a bit of a moment of panic.

When I didn't respond, Sherlock continued, "It's what you're used to, and I... wouldn't know what to do. I mean, I know what to do but...like you said, knowing and experiencing aren't the same thing."

I was still at a complete loss for words. Sherlock raised his head and looked at me.

"It is what you want, isn't it?" He seemed a little worried.

"Er, Sherlock," I said, pulling myself together, "it's not just about what I want. You seem to be a bit fixated on that. I can't, erm, do that without being sure that it's what YOU want as well. And, we don't have to jump into the deep end of the pool right off. This is all new for both of us. I want to be sure that we're both ready before taking that leap."

Sherlock frowned.

"Also," I continued, "I don't want our first experience to be a rushed affair with the clock ticking and a train to catch. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I was sort of hoping that it'd be special for both of us."

"Oh," Sherlock seemed a little surprised, "Alright then."

There was a pause. Then Sherlock spoke up again.

"John, will you take your shirt off for me?"

I hesitated and then said, "Ok, but you'll have to let go of me."

Sherlock instantly let go and sat up, waiting expectantly.

I sat up as well and without letting myself think about it, swiftly pulled my t-shirt off. I flopped back down on the bed and watched Sherlock's reaction.

He was gazing intently, as he does when he's concentrating on a piece of evidence. I could almost feel his eyes running over every bit of my exposed skin, memorizing every detail. Then, not content to just look, soon he was exploring with his hands.

Eventually he stopped and looked up into my face.

"I might have lost you before I ever met you," he said.

"If I'd never been shot we probably wouldn't have met," I replied.

Something flashed in his eyes, and he bent down and began tenderly kissing the wound. It was curiously arousing, this demonstration of his need and affection. I closed my eyes and ran my hands through his curls.

Finally he stopped and said, "I am sorry you suffered."

I cupped his face and brought it up to mine and gave him several long, deep kisses.

"All right," I said, "we really need to get moving."

He nodded, but took one of my hands in his and put it against his erection and held it there. He gazed at me steadily for a few seconds, before saying in a low voice, "I want you to know that I think you're perfect. And...I want to be...yours."

He gave me a quick, but intense kiss, let go of my hand and sprang out of bed, leaving me breathless and extremely aroused.

TBC...


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:** I send a special thank you to khorazir for sharing her drawing "Butterflies." She states that this beautiful work was inspired by Sherlock's words in chapter 8 of this story. Words can't express how moved I am by this.

**Beta:** As always - Jarri Scythe

Tension Makes a Tangle - 11

Things were a little strained between Sherlock and me on the trip back down to Woking. After his blunt declaration earlier Sherlock seemed to withdraw back into himself, although that might be due to him refocusing on Percy's case.

For myself, I was becoming more and more troubled by Sherlock's behavior. I felt that there was something not quite right in the way he was acting in our intimate moments, but I wasn't sure what it was. Trying to analyze it got me nowhere, especially since it was uncharted territory for both of us. What could I possibly compare it to? Maybe I was just being paranoid. I finally decided that I would try not to worry about it anymore until we were in another such situation.

When we arrived at Percy's house we went directly to the same bedroom where we found both Annie and Percy. Percy looked much better than he had the previous day. When we came in he got off the couch and shook our hands.

"Do you have any news?" he asked eagerly.

Sherlock replied, "I went to see Detective Forbes, and your boss, and I have a few other ideas I am following up on that might lead to something."

"You don't think it's hopeless?"

"No."

"Thank you so much!" exclaimed Annie.

She turned to Percy, "We just have to keep calm and be patient, and the truth will have to come out."

Percy smiled at her fondly, squeezed her hand, and then sat back down on the couch.

"Well," Percy said after he was seated, "I guess we have more to tell you than you have to tell us."

"Really!" Sherlock exclaimed, clearly interested.

"Yes, we had an incident during the night, a serious one." Percy looked very serious and maybe even a little frightened. "I'm starting to think that I am in the middle of a horrible conspiracy, and that my life is in danger as well as my reputation."

Sherlock was smiling as if this news pleased him.

Percy continued, "I know it sounds crazy, because I don't have any enemies… that I know of. But after what happened last night I have to assume that someone is out to destroy me."

Sherlock was getting impatient, "Tell me what happened!"

"Last night was the first night that I slept without a nurse in the room. I felt so much better after your visit that I sent her home. At about two in the morning I was awakened by a sound like something grinding against wood. I listened to it, and decided that it must be a mouse. It suddenly got a little louder and I realized it was coming from the window. Just then I heard a metallic click. I sat up in the bed and wondered if the noise was coming from inside or outside. But just then everything went silent. I sat there for several minutes, wondering if it was all my imagination or not, when I heard the window being slowly opened. At that moment I realized the sounds were of an instrument being slipped between the window sashes so that the lock could be slid open. I jumped out of the bed and opened the curtains. There was a man crouched at the window. I hardly got a glimpse of him before he ran off. He had something wrapped around his face, but he had some sort of long knife in his hand, I saw the light reflect off of it as he turned to run."

"Fascinating," said Sherlock, "what happened then?"

"I began shouting, because I didn't know where my phone was at the time. After a few minutes Joe arrived and then he woke up the others. Joe and Dad found marks in the flowerbed outside the window, but they couldn't find a trail across the grass. They did find a place where someone hopped over the fence and broke the top rail. I haven't called the police yet, since I knew you were coming and I wanted to hear your opinion first."

Sherlock got up out of his chair and began pacing the room as he does when he's excited.

Percy watched him with a smile, "I seem to be having a run of bad luck."

"You've certainly had your share," agreed Sherlock. "Do you think you could walk around the house with me to see the marks in the flowerbed?"

"Sure, I'd love to. We'll have Joe come with us to show what he found."

"I'll come to," said Annie.

"No," said Sherlock shaking his head. "I must ask you to stay sitting where you are."

Annie sat back down looking disappointed. Joe joined us and the four of us went outside together. We walked around to the outside of Percy's window. Joe pointed at the ground where there were some marks, but the ground was very dry and so there was nothing Sherlock could make out.

Sherlock shrugged and said, "Let's go around the house and see why this room was chosen by the burglar. I would think that the larger windows of the sitting room and dining room would be a more logical choice."

"Maybe he passed them by because they are more visible from the road," suggested Joe.

"Oh, yes, of course," said Sherlock, "Here's a door which he might have tried as well. What is it for?"

"It's the old side-entrance for servants and deliveries. I think it's always locked now," answered Percy.

"Have there been attempted break-ins before?"

"Never," said Percy.

"Is there anything of particular value in the house that would attract burglars?"

"No."

Sherlock continued around the house, sauntering with his hands in his pockets. He seemed to have lost his keen interest from before.

Then, he turned to Joe, "I understand you found a place where the intruder hopped the fence. Let's go look at that."

Joe led us to where the top rail of the fence was cracked. There was a fragment of wood hanging free and Sherlock tugged it off and looked at it closely.

"You think this was done last night? It looks pretty old, don't you think?"

"Well, maybe so."

Sherlock looked over the fence.

"There are no marks of anyone jumping down on the other side. No; nothing to help us here. Let's go back to the bedroom and talk it over there."

Percy was very tired by this time, and could only walk very slowly, helped by his future brother-in-law. Sherlock walked quickly back across the lawn, and I followed so we got to the bedroom window several minutes before Percy and Joe.

"Miss Harrison," Sherlock said to her from the window, "you must stay where you are all day. Do not leave for any reason. It is very important."

Annie looked stunned, but agreed, "Of course, whatever you say Mr. Holmes."

"When you go to bed tonight, lock the door of this room and keep the key. Promise me you'll do this."

"But what about Percy?"

"He will come to London with us."

"And you want me to stay here?"

"Yes, do it for his sake. It will help him. Quick! Promise!"

She nodded, but said nothing as the other two arrived at the window.

"Why are you sitting and moping in there, Annie?" asked her brother. "Come out and enjoy the sun!"

"No thanks, Joe. I have a migraine and this room is cool and dark."

"What do you think we should do now, Mr. Holmes?" asked Percy.

"It would help me if you would come up to London with us."

"Right now?"

"As soon as you can. Maybe in an hour?"

Percy smiled, "Yes, of course! You give me so much hope that I feel stronger already. Do you really think I can help you solve this?"

"Yes, you can be a huge help."

"How long will you need me? Should I pack an overnight bag?"

"Yes, John and I will put you up for the night."

Percy chuckled, "Well, if the burglar comes again he won't be able to find me. Just tell us what you want all of us to do. Should Joe come with us to take care of me?"

Sherlock smiled, "You're forgetting that your friend John is a doctor! I'm sure he feels up to taking care of anything you might need."

I nodded and said, "Of course!"

Sherlock continued, "The three of us will leave for London whenever you are ready."

Annie continued to declare herself incapacitated with her headache, and stayed in the bedroom. I wondered why Sherlock designed to keep her prisoner like that. My only guess was that he wanted to separate her from Percy for some reason by taking him to London while keeping her in a known location.

When the three of us arrived at the train station Sherlock suddenly announced that he wouldn't be coming with us to London. Percy and I both expressed surprise and dismay.

"I've just realized that there are a few things I want to clear up before I go," explained Sherlock, "but you being away will actually help me do what I need to do. John, when you get to London take Percy to Baker Street and stay there until I contact you and advise otherwise. Luckily, you two are such old friends that you must have a lot to talk about. Mr. Phelps, we have a spare bedroom where you can stay. I expect to be back around 8am tomorrow."

"But what about the investigation in London?" asked Percy, clearly disappointed.

"We can do it tomorrow. I think that what I want to do here should be completed first. Now, off you go."

Sherlock waved at us as the train pulled out of the station.

I was very upset. Sherlock was clearly up to something, and once again he had neglected to inform me of what it was. It looked as if the change in our relationship did not mean he trusted me in any greater capacity when it came to his work, and that was the worst type of betrayal.

TBC...


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: **I want to make a special note for this chapter to give thanks to my lovely Beta Reader Jarri Scythe. She provided the great idea for the conversation between John and Percy about the unhappiness of their school days.

Tension Makes a Tangle - 12

Percy and I were rather quiet at first, as we began our journey back to London. Percy was severely disappointed that Sherlock was not with us, and I was fuming at once again being kept in the dark. However, after a few minutes of silence, we began discussing with each other this sudden change of plans and what it might mean.

Percy finally said, "I suppose he wants to see if he can find out anything more about the burglary last night. But I don't believe that it was a random thief."

"What do you think, then?" I asked him.

"Well, I realize that this might make me sound paranoid, but I think there is some sort of conspiracy against me, and that someone might actually want to kill me. It sounds crazy, but look at the facts: Why would a thief try to break into a bedroom window, where someone might be sleeping, instead of an empty room like a dining room? And why did he come with a long knife in his hand?"

"Well, we can assume that he used the knife to jimmy the window. Why would anyone want to kill you?"

"I have no idea."

"Well, if Sherlock thinks the same as you do, I suppose that would explain him remaining behind. Assuming that your theory is correct, he is sending you away from the danger, and if he can catch the man who threatened you last night, he will probably also find the one who stole the manuscript. I don't believe that you could have two enemies: one who robs you and another one threatening your life."

"But why the sudden change of plan at the train station?"

I sighed and said, "Well, I've known Sherlock for almost two years now, and generally his sudden changes of plan result in a good outcome. I'm sure he has a good reason." _Which he will thoroughly explain to me, along with the reason why I wasn't informed -_ I thought to myself grimly.

After that our conversation moved on to other topics. We talked about my time in Afghanistan and India. He talked about his career since graduating from Cambridge. However, I could tell that he really wasn't paying much attention and that he was brooding on the fact that Sherlock had abandoned us.

His mood seemed to affect his physical condition, as I had to help him off the train and into a cab to get back to Baker Street. Once we arrived at the flat, it was a long, weary task getting him up the stairs.

We spent the rest of the day in the flat, as Sherlock had ordered. Thankfully, Mrs. Hudson had just brought in the shopping, so I was able to cook us a decent dinner.

Sherlock had not contacted me at all since leaving us at the train station.

After dinner was over Percy began fretting over Sherlock's absence again. I decided that a new topic of conversation was needed, and my guilty conscience provided a suitable one.

"Percy," I said, "I feel like I need to talk to you about something."

"What's that?" He was clearly surprised.

"I...want to apologize for the way I treated you back in school."

Percy didn't say anything, but continued to look at me questioningly.

"I was unkind and there's really no excuse for it. I just want to let you know that I regret what I did and that I'm a different person now."

Percy laughed. It was my turn to be surprised.

"John, we were kids. Yes, some of them were quite cruel, but you were never really one of _them_. In fact, I never blamed you at all. So, you're forgiven. I'm just grateful that you are here now, and willing to help me when I need it so badly. That's what shows the kind of person you really are." He paused and smiled again, "That, plus the fact that you've apparently felt guilty all these years. You should let it go, John. I have."

We smiled at each other, and then Percy went on, "I've been reading your blog since I found it last year. You seem to have a great deal of faith and admiration for Sherlock."

"He's a remarkable man."

"Has he ever had a case as difficult as this?"

"Oh God yes. I've seen him solve mysteries with fewer clues than yours."

"With stakes as high as mine?"

"Well...I have to be careful about what I say, because of client confidentiality, but I'm sure you read about the terrorist financing case he worked on earlier this year?"

"Yes, I remember that one. It happened not too long before my manuscript was stolen. But you live with him; I imagine you know him as well as anyone. But he is puzzling to me, I don't understand him the way you do. Do you think he is hopeful about my case? Do you think he thinks he can solve it?"

I wasn't quite sure what to say so I ended up saying, "He hasn't told me anything definite."

"That seems like a bad sign."

"Well...no...Usually when he's stuck he says so. It's when he has a theory but is not quite sure that it's the right one that he tends to get cagey. Please, Percy, don't get yourself worked up again, there's nothing we can do right now, so maybe you should think about going to bed so we'll be up and ready for Sherlock's return tomorrow."

"All right," Percy sighed.

"Come on then, I'll show you to my room."

"I don't want to take your room, where will you sleep? Didn't Sherlock say there was an extra room?"

"Ah, yes. The extra room is mine; I can use Sherlock's since he's gone." _Why am I covering up our sleeping situation?_

I took Percy's bag and led him upstairs to my bedroom. I regretted my attempt to cover up the truth, because anyone could tell that the room was deserted. I could hardly be surprised by Percy's reaction.

"This is your room? Where are your things?"

"I, ah, don't really have a lot of material possessions."

"Oh, that's right, you were in the army. Sorry, I don't mean to pry into your business like that. The military neatness startled me after your sitting room. I take it Sherlock's taste dominates there?" he finished with a smile.

I chuckled, "You could say that, yes."

I made up the bed with fresh sheets while Percy got himself ready for bed. After he was settled in I went back downstairs to get ready for bed myself. There didn't seem to be much reason to stay up, as Sherlock had told us not to expect him before morning.

I left a message with the surgery to let them know I might be late in to work the next day as I didn't know what effect Sherlock's actions might have on my work schedule.

I sighed after that was done, remembering my feelings of disappointment and betrayal. I felt confused that Sherlock could offer his body to me, and then a few hours later abandon me with no clue as to what he was planning or even if he was facing danger or not.

I was worried and my feelings were hurt. Then, I was disgusted with myself for feeling that way. After all, I knew Sherlock, and I should know better than to expect him to change for me. He was always going get periodically lost in his mind, too busy following up his trains of thought to remember that I was somewhere lagging behind him. It was part of what I found so fascinating about him. Why would I even want him to lose that amazing focus and drive? If he did, he wouldn't be my Sherlock anymore.

By the time I had worked out all these thoughts and feelings I was in bed with my phone in my hand. I decided to text him.

_Take care, Sherlock. Good night. _

I hit send and put the phone on the nightstand.

As I waited to fall asleep I found myself wondering over many of the questions Percy and I had pondered that day. Why had Sherlock decided to stay in Woking? Why had he secretly asked Annie to stay in the sick-room all day? Why had Sherlock sent Percy here?

I was pondering all these issues when I heard my phone chime. It was a text from Sherlock.

_I will. Goodnight, John. Miss you. SH_

I smiled and felt a warmth creep over my heart. He was frustrating, he was reckless, he was brilliant, and he was mine.

TBC...

**A/N:** I'm very pleased to be able to post this just before the start of the weekend. But, just a warning, the next one won't be coming so quickly.


	13. Chapter 13

Tension Makes a Tangle - 13

My alarm went off at 7am the next morning. I got up and made some tea, then proceeded upstairs to see how Percy was doing. He looked more tired than when he had gone to bed last night and admitted that he had been worrying all night.

"Has Sherlock come back yet?" he asked.

"No, I don't expect him any earlier than eight, as he said."

Percy and I had both showered and dressed by the time I heard a car door slam in the street outside. We both ran over to the window to see Sherlock paying a taxi driver. His left hand was wrapped in a bandage and he looked pale and grim.

"He doesn't look like he's coming back with success," observed Percy.

"No," I admitted, "but the solution was probably here in London anyway."

Percy sighed sadly, "I hoped that when he returned it would be with good news, but his hand wasn't injured when we saw him yesterday. I wonder what happened?"

Just then, Sherlock came in the room.

"Sherlock, are you hurt?" I asked anxiously as I hurried over to inspect his hand.

Instead of offering up his hand for me, he pulled me into a fierce hug and buried his face in my hair and inhaled deeply, "Hmmm," he hummed into me happily, "It's just a scratch due to my own clumsiness. I missed you last night."

He turned to Percy, "This case of yours, Mr. Phelps, is one of the darkest I have ever investigated."

Percy was busy doing a goldfish impersonation, complete with bulging eyeballs and gaping mouth. I felt myself flush. I mentally kicked myself for not just telling him the truth last night.

Percy visibly pulled himself together and finally managed to say, "I was afraid that even you wouldn't be able to help me."

Sherlock looked between the two of us and frowned, then abruptly let me go, and began taking off his coat.

"It's certainly been a remarkable experience."

I wasn't willing to drop the issue of the bandaged hand. "So tell us the story behind the clumsy scratch."

"After breakfast, John. I haven't had a chance to eat yet, have you two? I phoned Mrs. Hudson to pick up an order I placed at the cafe. Did anyone ever stop here about the ad for the cab fare?"

I shook my head.

Sherlock shrugged, "Well, you don't win every time."

In a few minutes we heard Mrs. Hudson coming up the stairs.

"Yoo-hoo!" she called, "breakfast is here! Sherlock, dear, are you alright?" She had seen the bandage.

"Fine, Mrs. Hudson," he said, taking the bags from her, "thanks for picking up our order."

"You're welcome dearie, just remember, I'm not your housekeeper!"

He allowed her to peck him on the cheek, and then he ushered her out.

"I'm starving!" he announced, "Shall we eat?"

Sherlock put the bags on the kitchen table, which was thankfully clear, and began looking through them.

Percy and I followed him into the kitchen. I noticed Percy looked deeply depressed.

"I was feeling hungry, so I called ahead to order a hearty meal for all of us to share. I figured you two probably hadn't eaten yet. What's in your bag, John?"

I opened the one in front of me. "It looks like ham and eggs."

Sherlock looked in his, "I've got the bacon and eggs, but we can trade if you'd like. Percy, what's in yours?"

"I'm afraid I'm not hungry," said Percy gloomily.

"Well, at least let us know what you've got, maybe we could trade with you?"

Percy sat down somewhat grumpily and opened the bag. After glancing into it he fell back in his chair, his face pale. I noticed Sherlock was smiling. Percy reached into the bag with a shaking hand and pulled out a large stack of papers. He then clutched them to his chest and leapt out of his chair and staggered back into the sitting room where he collapsed into my chair.

I quickly ran for a glass of water to help revive him.

When I came out to him with the glass Sherlock was kneeling by Percy's chair, talking in a soothing voice.

"I'm sorry; I shouldn't have shocked you like that. John will have my head for endangering your health for the sake of a dramatic conclusion."

Percy grabbed one of Sherlock's hands and squeezed it hard enough to make Sherlock wince.

"God bless you!" he said, almost in tears, "you have saved my reputation!"

Sherlock looked a bit uncomfortable, "Well my own was on the line, you know. I hate failing on a case."

"How did you get it back? Where was it?"

"I'll tell you everything, as we eat. You need some fortification after your shock."

Together, Sherlock and I coaxed Percy back to the breakfast table. I made coffee and tea while Sherlock got the food out and divided it between the three of us.

As we began to eat, Sherlock drank his coffee and began his story.

"After I left you at the station I went for a walk through the countryside, until I got to a place called Ripley where I had some tea. I lingered until evening when I left and returned to Woking. I got back to your house just after the sun had set.

"I waited until the road was empty and then hopped your fence."

"You didn't have to do that!" exclaimed Percy. "You could have gone through the gate."

"Well, I had my reasons. I chose a spot behind three fir trees, so no one in the house could see me climbing over. I crouched in the bushes on the other side and had to crawl from one to another. You can see the evidence here on my trousers."

Sherlock brought his legs out from under the table for our inspection.

"After I reached a clump of rhododendrons opposite from your bedroom window I squatted down and waited.

"I had an excellent view of the inside of your bedroom. I could see Miss Harrison sitting and reading a book. At a quarter past ten she closed the book, shut off the light, and closed the door behind her. I then heard her turn the key and lock the door."

"She locked the door?" Percy asked with surprise.

"Yes, I told Miss Harrison to lock the door on the outside and then take the key with her when she went to bed. She followed my instructions perfectly, and without her cooperation you would not have your manuscript back. She left, and I continued to wait by the bush.

"Fortunately, there was no rain or extreme cold, but it was still a very tiring wait. I tried to maintain my vigilance by reminding myself that I was a hunter, waiting for my prey to show itself. It was very long, though, long and exhausting. Finally, at about two in the morning I heard the sound of a key turning, and a door opening. The old side entrance door opened and Joe Harrison stepped out."

"Joe!" Percy was clearly shocked.

"He had no hat on, but had a scarf around his neck to conceal his face if needed. He tiptoed over to the bedroom window and used a long-bladed knife to force open the window lock. Once that was done he opened the window and climbed inside.

"From where I was I had a clear view of the inside of the room. He turned on the bedside lamp and lifted the corner of the carpet near the doorway. He picked out a square board from the floor, a loose piece left for access to plumbing. Out of that space he took the manuscript, put back the board, and replaced the carpet, turned out the light, and walked straight into me as I stood waiting for him outside the window.

"He's a bit more vicious than I thought he would be. He went for me with the knife and I had to knock him down twice, and got my knuckles slashed, before I finally secured him. He looked pretty murderous, but he could only see from one eye by the end. He finally listened to reason and gave up the manuscript. Once I had the papers in hand I let him go, but I called Forbes and gave him the details. If he moves quickly enough, he may catch Joe Harrison. If not, well, it's better for the publisher for the whole business to stay quiet. I don't suppose you'd want to testify at his trial?"

Percy was staring at Sherlock in shock.

"Oh my God," he gasped. "Are you saying that all this time the manuscript was in same room with me?"

"Yes."

"And Joe? Joe Harrison is a thief?"

"Hmmmm. Well, I'm afraid that Joe's character is more dangerous than his appearance leads you to believe. From what he told me this morning he has lost a lot of money in the stock market and he wanted to do anything to get some money. He's a very selfish man and when he had the chance he didn't think of either his sister's happiness or your reputation at all."

Percy slumped back into his chair.

"I can't believe it," he said.

Sherlock got up and started pacing the room as he continued his explanation.

"The problem with your case," he said, "was that there was too much evidence. What was important was hidden by what wasn't. I had begun to suspect Joe because of the fact that you had planned to meet him to take the train with him that night. So, it seemed possible that he might come to the publisher's to meet up with you. And then when I heard that someone had been anxious to break into the bedroom - well, no one but Joe could have hidden anything in there. Remember you told us that he had to be evacuated from the room because you couldn't make it up the stairs. My suspicions became certainties when I heard that the attempted break-in was the first night you didn't have a nurse. It showed that the burglar had inside knowledge of the household."

"Oh!" cried Percy, "I've been so _stupid_!"

Sherlock smiled and continued, "My conclusions about what happened are these: Joe accessed your office through the Charles Street door, left ajar by the cleaning woman. Since he'd visited you before, he walked straight to your room just after you left it. You weren't there, so he called down to the security desk, and at that moment he saw the manuscript on your desk, with the name of the famous author and main character at the top of each page. Just the quickest glance showed him the random chance that had presented itself to him. It took him just a few seconds to grab the manuscript and leave.

"He returned to Woking and hid the manuscript in his bedroom, which he was sure was a very safe place. He intended to start shopping for a buyer the very next day. Then, you suddenly returned and with no warning he was ejected from his room, and from that moment on you were never alone and so he was prevented from getting his treasure back. It must have been driving him mad. But, he thought he finally had a chance when you slept alone that first night. He tried to sneak in, perhaps thinking that he would be able to do it without waking you up. Well, I knew that he would try again at the first opportunity, so I had your fiancée stay in the room that entire day to keep him out. Then, after she left I waited for him to show up. I already knew that the manuscript was probably in the room, but why should I tear the room apart? I let him take it from the hiding-place and saved myself the trouble. Any questions?"

"Why did he try to come through the window the first time?" I asked. "Why not sneak in through the door?"

"Making it look like a burglary had taken place seemed more plausible to him than to possibly get caught sneaking into Percy's bedroom when, if he had legitimate business, he could come any time. Turned out he was right, because when Percy woke up, no one questioned that it was a thwarted burglary. Anything else?"

Percy asked somewhat hesitantly, "Do you think he had any murderous intention? Was the knife meant only as a tool?"

Sherlock shrugged, "All I can say is that I would be very unwilling to trust in the mercy of Joe Harrison."

Percy shuddered, and then there was a moment of grim silence.

TBC...

**A/N:** One final chapter to go...Much thanks, as always, to my wonderful Beta: Jarri Scythe. Also, for those who have been following my stories: Khorazir has another lovely drawing "The Periodic Table" posted to her Tumblr account. It depicts the scene from "Sunday With Mycroft" where Sherlock explains the periodic table to Tim. It is, quite simply, perfection.


	14. Chapter 14

Tension Makes a Tangle - 14

Percy shook his head, "Joe...poor Annie...ANNIE!"

Percy jumped up from the table, "I have to call her; she must be devastated!"

He ran from the room and rushed upstairs, apparently to get his phone and make the call.

I looked over at Sherlock, feeling a mixture of anger, exasperation, relief, and affection.

"Sherlock, let me see your hand."

"It's really nothing, John, just a scratch. You don't have to fuss."

"If it's nothing, you won't mind me looking at it."

He sighed, "OK."

"Let's go to the bathroom where there's better light and I have the first aid stuff."

When we got there, he somewhat sheepishly removed the makeshift bandage that turned out to be his handkerchief, wound around his hand.

I inspected the wound carefully. It certainly wasn't "nothing" but not as bad as I feared. Apparently Joe's knife blade had skimmed across the knuckles of Sherlock's hand, making a neat, small slice at the top of each one. There was no fresh blood, so all I did was to clean the cuts and put knuckle plasters on each one.

"Now, before I decide if I'm very cross with you or not, do you want to tell me why you went off on your own to face Joe without telling me your plans?"

"I'm sorry, John. I wanted to get Percy out of the way, and I couldn't figure out how to do it without giving anything away. We didn't have a single moment alone."

"You could have told us both as we went back to the train station."

Sherlock shook his head. "Given Percy's state of mind, I didn't want to take the chance on what his reaction to my suspicions might be."

"I'm not happy with you facing knife-wielding criminals on your own. You promised me in your text that you were going to be careful."

"I _was _careful, John. This is nothing. I've suffered much worse."

"You were lucky."

We glared at each other for a few seconds.

Our standoff was ended by the sound of Percy hurrying back downstairs.

We came out and met him in the sitting room.

"John, Sherlock, I have to go. I need to get back home and be with Annie. She's extremely upset about what's happened. I also have to contact my boss and let him know that the manuscript has been found and has remained secure. I can't thank you two enough. You've saved my career and maybe my life. I'm sorry to run out like this. Please, send me a bill for your time, expenses, and troubles."

Sherlock waved him off, "I won't charge a friend of John's."

Percy glanced quickly between us, "Right, well, don't let me take advantage. I'm so grateful but I have to run. Bye, John, I'll be in touch."

And with that he rushed out of the flat, with an energy I couldn't have imagined him having when I first saw him that morning.

Sherlock turned to me once he had gone.

"Are you ashamed of me, John?"

I was startled, "What? No! Why?"

"You didn't tell Percy about us. He found out because of how I greeted you. I'm the one who told Harry about us."

I didn't know what to say.

"Are you ashamed of...us?"

"No, Sherlock. No. It's just...I'm getting used to it is all."

Sherlock's lips thinned in displeasure.

"Does it take you awhile to get used to a girlfriend?"

"Every relationship is different, Sherlock. And this is the most different one I've ever had."

"Maybe it's too different?"

"No, Sherlock. I don't regret it. I want this...us."

"I'd really prefer it if you two would have your dreary lovers' quarrel later," drawled Mycroft, who seemed to have materialized in our doorway.

There was a beat of shocked silence while Sherlock and I stared at Mycroft, looking his most pompous and condescending. It was a sign of just how absorbed Sherlock must have been to have allowed Mycroft to creep that close to us unnoticed.

Then, with a growl of fury Sherlock flew at Mycroft. It happened so quickly, I couldn't see exactly how it was done, but with a flash of limbs and a twirl of the umbrella, Sherlock landed on the floor on his stomach with Mycroft kneeling on him, pinning his arms from behind.

Mycroft said tightly, "You never learn, Sherlock. When you lose your temper, _you lose_."

"Get off me you bloody elephant!" snarled Sherlock.

I hurried over, "Mycroft! What are you doing? Let him go!"

Mycroft fixed me with a steely glare, but let go of Sherlock, rising gracefully back to his feet. Sherlock scrambled back up, still enraged.

I quickly stepped over to him, and anxiously asked, "Sherlock, are you hurt?"

He shrugged me off and turned to Mycroft.

"Get out of my flat!" he ordered.

"Sherlock, be reasonable, _you_ came at _me,_" Mycroft said calmly, although I could see he was still clutching the umbrella tightly.

"Stop it! Both of you!" I barked in my most commanding, soldier voice.

They both looked at me with surprise. I'm not sure I had ever taken that tone with either of them.

"Mycroft, what do you want? Please state your business, so that Sherlock and I can conclude our _private_ conversation," I continued, taking it down just a tiny notch.

Sherlock grunted in displeasure and threw himself down on the couch. I remained standing, my arms folded across my chest, giving Mycroft one of my most intimidating stares. It didn't seem to have much of an effect.

"I came to see you, John," he said, leaning elegantly on his umbrella. "I came to request, _politely_, that you refrain from interfering with my family."

"Interfering with your family?" I repeated, puzzled.

"Yes, it has come to my attention that you have advised Margaret to defy my wishes to keep her and Tim safe."

"I did no such thing, Mycroft. Margaret came to _me_, and I advised her as I would have my own sister. My advice to her was that she make her _own_ decision. What she decides is up to her, not me," I paused, "or _you_."

"Tim is _my son_," growled Mycroft. A small part of me was stunned that Mycroft was capable of such a primal sound.

Outwardly though, I scoffed at him.

"Biologically, yes," I said, rolling my eyes. "But you weren't there for his conception, weren't there for his birth, didn't change his nappies, and you didn't walk the floor with him when he cried non-stop for hours. Face it, Mycroft, YOU ARE A STRANGER. You are going to have to _earn_ your place in Margaret's and Tim's hearts and lives. A piece of paper acknowledging your paternity doesn't make up for the last five years. That might sound harsh, but it's the truth, and if you don't believe me, just go and order Margaret around some more and see where it gets you."

Just then, my phone started to ring. I ignored it.

Mycroft stared at me intensely for a few seconds in silence, then seemed to relax a bit.

"Shall we sit down?" he asked.

"Sure," I said. We took the two armchairs, as Sherlock was still draped across most of the couch.

My phone stopped ringing. My voicemail had apparently picked up.

Mycroft looked at me thoughtfully then said, "Margaret knows nothing about the Galton Society. All she knows is that her father was our family doctor, and that our two families saw each other socially. She doesn't remember me, though. I guess she was still too young at the time. The Society is a burden of knowledge I don't want her or Tim to have to carry. Can I at least ask that you will not speak of it to them?"

"Of course, Mycroft," I said. "If there's no need for them to know, they're better off not knowing."

My phone started ringing again. _Who's calling me?_ I wondered.

"Thank you," said Mycroft.

He looked over at Sherlock, and the two brothers engaged in one of their wordless conversations while my phone continued ringing in the background. I wondered where it was, it wasn't in my pocket, but was obviously somewhere in the sitting room.

"Well," said Mycroft after a bit of silence, "I'm sorry to have intruded. I'll be going, then. But, I don't want to leave without giving you both my heartfelt congratulations and best wishes for the future."

He smiled at us both warmly. I felt myself blush, Sherlock looked disgusted, and my phone finally stopped ringing.

Mycroft and I stood up, and he shook my hand. Sherlock pointedly refused to look at him. With a wry smile, Mycroft saw himself off.

Sherlock and I looked at each other. Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, and my phone started ringing again.

"Answer your damned phone!" exclaimed Sherlock, "it's driving me mad!"

I found it under a stack of magazines on the coffee table. I looked at the screen to see who was so insistent about calling me.

"It's Harry!" I said, surprised.

"Hello?" I said, answering the call.

"John?" came Harry's voice, quavering a bit.

"Yes? Harry, what's wrong?"

"John, this is the last phone call I'll be allowed to make for at least two weeks. I wanted to let you know, I've checked myself into rehab."

END

**A/N**: Obviously, more to come in future installments. Huge "thank you" to the lovely Jarri Scythe for all of her Beta work. Also, many thanks to all you lovely readers and the encouragement you've given me.


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